


New Beginnings

by troubletonesglee



Category: Glee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubletonesglee/pseuds/troubletonesglee
Summary: Sebastian Smythe had not ever been the new kid and he had no idea how to be. He’d seen many, watched them press close to the wall, keep their eyes fixed firmly to the floor before anyone could notice them. Some of them would friends fairly quickly, some of them would not, instead trailing through the halls alone. That was not going to be him. He wouldn’t let it be him.But life rarely works out the way you want it to.
Kudos: 4





	New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> This is very heavily inspired by @/thesebastiansmythe-headcannons on tumblr! Thank you for letting me use them!

Sebastian squared his shoulders slightly, stretching up to his full height. He adjusted his shirt slightly, before taking one last look at himself in the mirror.  
“Tête haute.” he sighed to himself, almost as though he was trying to convince himself of something.  
He headed down the stairs, sliding onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. He popped some toast into the toaster, before diverting his attention to the apparently much more interesting marble counter top. Probably not real, he thought, but nice none the less. So nice, in fact, that he didn’t notice the figure slip into the room, nor the toast jump up from the machine.  
“Here.” His father said, passing him the plate of toast.  
Sebastian jumped, looking at him. Gabriel Smythe had already moved on, busying himself with the coffee machine. Sebastian couldn’t say he was surprised. As much as he’d like his father to say something else, give a few words of reassurance, he knew he wouldn’t. Gabriel hadn’t ever been the affectionate type, even less so recently. Not that Sebastian minded overly. He was still kind of mad about the move from Paris to Ohio, but he knew that there was a reason. Staying in France wouldn’t have been good for either of them.  
Upon finishing his food (and washing the plate, he wasn’t born in a barn), Sebastian surveyed his shoes. He needed to make a good first impression. Aside from his dad, he didn’t know anyone in America and he was not about to go the rest of his school life without having any friends. He settled on a fairly smart pair of black trainers and pulled his bag onto his shoulders.  
Giving his father one last glance, Sebastian headed out the door. He wasn’t familiar with the school bus system, so he figured being early was best.  
The shelter wasn’t too far from his house, so he made it in a decent time and sat down on the seat. Deciding not to look at his phone in case he missed anything, he instead twiddled his fingers nervously. Sebastian Smythe had not ever been the new kid and he had no idea how to be. He’d seen many, watched them press close to the wall, keep their eyes fixed firmly to the floor before anyone could notice them. Some of them would friends fairly quickly, some of them would not, instead trailing through the halls alone. That was not going to be him. He wouldn’t let it be him.  
A few kids came to the shelter, who he assumed were going to the same school. He decided against speaking to any of them, there was a good chance that they wouldn’t be in any of his classes.  
A bright yellow bus pulled up in front of them, which Sebastian supposed was the school bus (he’d seen a lot of American films in his time). Letting a few people go in front of him, he stepped up onto the bus and instantly scrunched up his nose. This bus was evidently an older one and he wasn’t a fan of the brown seats, either. He slotted himself down a seat that he determined to be one of the cleanest, and sat up by the window. He kept his eyes firmly fixed outside, trying to distract himself from his surroundings. Calm, Sebastian, calm. Some kid who he didn’t care to look at sat next to him, and he could hear his music through his earphones. Sebastian shook his head. Americans. 

“My name is Sebastian? Smythe.”  
Sebastian was leaning against the student reception, trying to get his schedule. Reminding himself to look up, he tried to speak more clearly. The woman he was speaking to was evidently having a hard time understanding him.  
“Yeah, I just moved here? My father spoke to you, Gabriel Smythe?” He was thinking back to his many English lessons in school, reminding himself to articulate properly. He was shifting his weight around, a nervous habit of his that his mother had tried to get him to quit. Just the thought of her made him centre his weight.  
“Yes. Alright, thank you.” The woman finally passed him his schedule and he took it, turning the page to a map of the school. 

Sebastian had come to the conclusion that absolutely did not like American school. His first class had something to do with homes and rooms, (even though they didn’t learn about either) and the teacher had made him stand up in front of the class. Back home, Sebastian had been fairly popular, and even those that he wasn’t friends with liked him. But the minute he opened his mouth, a horrible snicker travelled through the room, ringing through his ears like a siren. He lowered his eyes and slipped back into his seat, and his eyes stayed firmly on the desk for the rest of the lesson.  
By the time he’d reached his third lesson, he was completely and utterly miserable. What had happened to people loving foreign accents? He’d heard that french accents were extremely desirable but everyone here seemed to hate his. A group of boys had come up to him at lunch to ask what sports he did and had practically spat in his eye when he said lacrosse.  
He was now sat in the lunch room, picking at his food with his fork. He made a mental note to start bringing his own food.  
“So you’re the new kid?”  
A group of girls sat down in front of him, with tight ponytails and dresses with the school logo. Thinking back to his days of endless Disney Channel, he supposed that these were the cheerleaders.  
“Yes,” he replied, clearing his throat, “my name’s Sebastian.”  
The girls exchanged amused glances, before one said, “so it’s true. You are gonna be a major loser.”  
Sebastian frowned, before the first girl joined in, “see, we thought you were hot but then we heard about your obnoxious accent. Thought we’d better find out for ourselves. Later, loser.”  
With that, they got up and flounced back to the footballers table. Sebastian pushed his food around a bit more, before grabbing his tray, clearing his food into the bin and leaving to go find the library. 

Sebastian quickly settled into the habit of going to the library during lunch. It was quiet there, and a few people would talk to him. He definitely wasn’t friends with any of them, but it was nice to have people who didn’t judge him to his face. Another advantage to going to the library was that the popular kids weren’t there. He wasn’t even sure they knew the school had one. He doubted they knew what one was. He liked the library. It was just about the only thing in America yhat he found alright. He supposed one thing was better than none.  
The last few weeks had been a blur. It felt like he’d been here for years. Casting his mind even further back, his thoughts fell upon a conversation he’d had on one of his first days.  
He’d been stood at his locker when he felt a pair of eyes on the back of his neck. He ignored it at first, assuming it was another group of people mocking him. But the eyes didn’t move. Turning his head ever so slightly, he caught sight of a boy his year watching him. Sebastian brought his eyes to meet the boys, who turned up one side of his mouth, into what looked like a very weak, not unkind smirk. Sebastian looked him up and down, then turned back to his locker. When he looked back round, the boy was gone. 

He was walking back to his locker now, deciding to get this things before the halls got busy. Turning the lock, he heard footsteps behind him, but didn’t think anything of it. That is, until, he felt a hand drop onto his shoulder. He looked round, straight into the face of the quarterback, Mason. “My girlfriend tells me that you’ve looking at her weird.”  
Sebastian frowned. “No? I don’t think so?”  
Mason pulled him round, his back hitting the locker. “You’d don’t think so? Why would she say it if you hadn’t?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“Exactly. You don’t know,” Mason spat, pushing him harder against the locker. “Don’t look at her, don’t look at me, don’t get in my way. Got it?”  
Sebastian nodded, and Mason shoved him, sending a shockwave of pain up Sebastian’s back.  
“Say it, or do you not know how?”  
“Got it.” His friends, who Sebastian hadn’t noticed, snickered before leaving him slumped against the locker.  
Sebastian picked up his bag which had fallen from his hands, slinging one of the straps over his shoulder. Hearing his phone vibrate, he pulled it out, a text from his father lighting up the screen.  
"Working late. Won’t be home for a few hours.”  
Sebastian sighed, dropping the phone back into his bag. Home alone, again. 

Pulling his shoes off, Sebastian decided that it would probably be a good idea to get some work done. He put his headphones in, blasting Stromae as loud as it would go. He’d hadn’t even particularly been a fan of french music when he’d lived there, but he found it reminded him of home, and so had been listening to it increasingly the past few weeks. He sat at the island, working through his maths papers.  
He finished fairly quickly (maths was one of his many strong points) and picked up his phone. Going to turn his music off, a few messages caught his eye.  
“Nobody actually likes you”  
“We don’t want you here”  
“Your accent is unbearable”  
His breath caught in his throat, eyes drifting through more and more messages, messages ridiculing him, making it very clear he was not welcome. He pushed the stool out and rushed upstairs, falling onto his bed. 

Sebastian Smythe had never felt this alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Make sure to go check out @/thesebastiansmythe-headcannons on tumblr, and whilst you’re there you can find me @/troubletonesglee ! Let me know your thoughts.
> 
> I forgot to mention it, but “tête haute” means head up :)


End file.
